out of control | the rewrite

¹⁵. ᵃ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉ ᶜᵃˡˡ

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: PART ONE ; HER MUSIC SPEAKS AND IT STINGS LIKE A BEE
[Fifteen minutes earlier]. As quick as the wind, she raced along the sidewalk, not looking behind her. The loud booms of the battlefield deafened her as the girl passed, having to stop a few times to catch her breath.

The gun was heavier than she'd expected it to be. Emerson struggled to keep it in her arms as she ran, but it only took a few minutes to adjust to its shape.

It still felt wrong in her hands.

Gritting her teeth as she jogged along, she kept her attention on the path in front of her. Pieces of buildings- steel beams and pieces of large concrete- became a very real possibility of death for her as she moved along.

Anything could fall out of the sky and she looked up warily at the skyscraper leaning at a dangerous angle across the street. A black blur suddenly found its place in her peripheral vision, and the blonde stumbled backwards.

It hit the pavement with a loud smash, and she had to turn her face to avoid the sharp pieces of debris that shot outward like daggers. The girl stared breathlessly at the remains of an office chair before clamping down on her nerves, moving forwards to avoid the chaos.

At least, to the best of her ability.

Emerson wasn't good with directions. Her internal radar has been terrible ever since she was younger. So it wasn't a surprise that she missed the street that the fight had been occurring on three times.

But now, standing at the end of the alleyway as the war waged on.. she felt as if this was a truly terrible idea. There were people that lay trapped under rubble or on the road.. some were clearly dead, and her heart clenched. Others were hanging on to life.

Some people stayed back to try and help, others ran. The girl felt bile rise in her throat as she tore forwards again.

At first, all she could manage was a slow jog as she watched for any stray blasts or any kind of recognition from the mess of silver, black and green that duked it out on the road.

Ironhide fought against Barricade, the two using brute force to try breaking the other into pieces. As of now, it looked like Ironhide had the advantage.

Ratchet, Jazz and Bonecrusher were a mash of limbs. She wasn't sure if it was a fight or a show of carnage. The silver mech wrapped himself around the top of the tank, and was dancing effortlessly on top of him, ripping the wires and gears away from his armor.

The medic kept the decepticon pinned as he shot through the internal hardwire.

She cringed at the sight. That was certainly one way to do it.

The blonde, in her hurry to get near the fight, even though her gut coiled at the sight, never noticed the sound of a harrowing jet in the sky. At least, until it landed a few meters away from her with a loud thud.

No, she never even realized what had happened until a voice- loud and deep-sounding, one that shook her even through her bones- made a call across the street.

"It's Megatron! Retreat! Move! Fall back!"

Emerson could recognize that voice anywhere, and she was suddenly struck as she realized just who had landed besides her.

The blonde didn't have the strength to look back. She knew if she did she wouldn't be able to run away. Her feet pushed her movements, the muscles in her thighs already past the breaking point of what she was used to, and beyond.

She was just glad she wasn't wearing a mouthguard and a mask.

Instead the gun dug in beneath her shoulder, and she barely even dared to breathe as she slid behind a piece of overturned sidewalk.